


The Killing Blow

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dry Humping, Enemies, F/M, Femdom, Fondling, Handcuffs, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, Heavy Petting, Love/Hate, Masturbation, Mind Games, Perversion, Phone Sex, Prison, Prison Sex, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Verbal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: Ransom lost. So he invents another way to win against Marta. Post Knives Out.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale, Marta Cabrera/Ransom Thrombey
Comments: 37
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *grabs loud speaker* CONGRATULATIONS, ME. THIS IS LITERALLY THE FILTHIEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN AND POSTED ON THIS WEBSITE.
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> Alright, so remember how I have two other fics about an AU Ransom Drysdale? 
> 
> This ain't that.
> 
> I decided to dive into the flaming fucking dumpster headfirst. I am trash. Utter trash for writing this. I am so goddamn sorry in advance. 
> 
> That being said, I found myself rolling around in the horrors of Ransom's trash personality and actions and decided to tackle the in-canon version of him after the events of Knives Out. This is objectionable content here. Mind you, it's tame compared to the rest of AO3, but for me personally, this is pretty sick. But oh well. Might as well take a chance and hope it pays off. Proceed with caution, but I promise, there's no rape/assault or anything like that. Just mind games and filthy, filthy talk from our resident garbage pail Ransom Drysdale. He's the worst and I think he would be like this if we picked up the story after the end of Knives Out.

_Come break me down_

_Bury me, bury me_

_I am finished with you!_

_Look in my eyes_

_You’re killing me, killing me_

_All I wanted was you!_

_I tried to be someone else_

_But nothing seemed to change_

_I know now_

_This is who I really am inside_

_-“The Kill” by 30 Seconds to Mars_

__

Marta had been used to hearing the house phone in Harlan’s place ring at random, but this time, it was different.

After his death, it had rung non-stop with various people: spam calls from lawyers who wanted to prey on the family, condolences from acquaintances trying to weasel into some money, genuine condolences from fans of his work, reporters, journalists, and so many more. It rang for a solid two months after his death and after his shocking change in the will that gave Marta everything from the doorknobs down. Worse still, since Harlan loved all things nostalgic, it was a giant rotary phone, which meant she couldn’t screen calls. Instead, she just forced herself to be mature and answer it, dealing with whoever was on the other line in the best possible way.

And so she found herself puzzled that it rang six months after Harlan’s death.

She’d been on the couch with her favorite coffee mug, flipping through one of Harlan’s paperbacks. Her mother and sister were out of town. She’d urged them to get some fresh air. Their lives had been unceremoniously flipped upside down by the murder and the will, so she wanted them to enjoy being on the beach for a week before they’d return to the mess. As for her, well, there was no true escape, not unless she emptied all the accounts and simply ran away to a remote city in Cuba. But she couldn’t do that, not really. Harlan wanted her to have her own life. She couldn’t run. His memory deserved better.

For now, the Thrombey clan had only been in contact in court, trying over and over again to get the money back, but with Ransom in prison for admitting to the murder and attempting to kill her in a fit of rage, there was nothing else they could do. They’d stopped calling. They’d stopped pounding on the door to be let in. They’d just focused all their attention in one area, and that she could handle. She’d gotten her mother’s legal status sorted out shortly after Blanc proved she hadn’t killed Harlan.

So why was the phone ringing?

Marta sighed and shuffled over to the chair beside the rotary phone, slumping into it and steeling herself for whatever the hell was on the other side of the phone. She let it ring one final time and then picked up.

“Harlan Thrombey residence?”

Nothing.

At first.

Then slow, heavy breathing.

And then, “It’s me, Marta.”

Marta stiffened in the chair, frozen like an ice sculpture. Her heart rate skyrocketed into the thousands. Her palms turned cold and damp. Her spine straightened. Her toes curled on the carpet.

“Ransom?” she whispered hoarsely.

“Mm-hmm,” the murderous Thrombey hummed into her ear. “So you haven’t forgotten me, then.”

All at once, rage filled her small form. She choked on air for a few seconds, her accent thickening as she spiraled immediately into self-righteous anger. “Of course I remember the person who tried to frame me for murdering my friend.”

She raked her hair off of her brow, shaking her head in disbelief. “How is this even possible? You can’t call here, Ransom.”

“Well, here’s the funny thing,” he drawled. “I may be cut off from my grandfather’s fortune, but I still have plenty of money left to make myself… _comfortable_ around here. Guards get shit pay, in case you didn’t know, and they’re happy to bend the rules if you wave enough green under their noses.”

“I’ll report you,” she seethed. “You’ll get more time if I have my way.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I still think it’s worth the risk.”

“For what?”

She heard a rush of air as he sighed into the phone. “Are you alone, Marta?”

Her heart hammered against her breastbone. “Why the hell would I tell you that?”

He chuckled. “I’ve got some things to say that I don’t think should be shared with anyone else, that’s all.”

“How? If you’re on the phone, shouldn’t you be somewhere other people can hear you?”

“Like I said, Marta. Money does wonders for a man, even one in prison. I’m on my own in here until I say otherwise.”

She spat out a curse in Spanish. He laughed that humorless laugh of his. “Sorry, but that’s how the system works, sweetheart.”

“I don’t have to entertain you. I can hang up right now and call my lawyer.”

“Yes, you can. You probably should.” She heard a shifting noise. His voice dropped a little lower in octave and in volume. “The question is if you’re going to do it.”

Marta’s pulse jumped in her neck. She clutched the phone. Why the hell couldn’t she move? She felt paralyzed, like a deer that had stumbled into the path of a wolf in the woods. He was miles and miles away, trapped behind shatterproof glass and cinderblock and steel. He couldn’t hurt her again, not by any stretch of the imagination.

So why couldn’t she move?

“You want to know why I called you,” Ransom continued after letting her have her tiny moment of panic. “You can’t help yourself. That’s good. That’s what I want.”

She gritted her teeth. “I don’t care what you want, Ransom.”

“Good, then that means you can just listen.” Again, she heard movement. “I wanted you dead that day. I lost my head, lost my cool, and so I did the stupidest goddamn thing humanly possible. I may have had a chance to get away with it if I hadn’t gone after you, but something about that sweet little face of yours just set me off and I couldn’t handle it. Call it a weakness. Thrombey men don’t lose gracefully. I’m sure Grandad taught you that, playing Go with you.”

A growl entered his voice. “And now I’m in this shithole and I can’t do anything about it. Money can make me comfortable in here, but you’ve undone me, Marta. My family’s disowned me. The money will dry up eventually. My whole world was gone the instant that I stuck that fake knife into your chest. And now…my whole world is _you_.”

Marta swallowed. The unbridled rage in his tone chilled her through and through, keeping her silent in awe of the sheer ferocity in his voice. “I think about you every day, Marta. I think about what you’ve done to me. I think about what I could have done differently, even though it’s too late to make a difference now. I hate you more than I’ve hated anyone in my entire life. It’s like air to me now, hating you, wanting you to suffer like I’m suffering in this place. You’re all I have left, Marta. Just you. I thought I still wanted you dead until I had an epiphany.”

He let out a little laugh. “And it’s the damnedest thing.”

She heard a slight rasp, something wet, like maybe he’d licked his lips. “I don’t want you dead anymore, Marta. Do you know why?”

The lump in her throat was far too great for her to speak. Ransom didn’t like that. “Ask me, Marta.”

“Why?” she choked out, curling her legs beneath her for strength, somehow riveted in place wanting to know where the hell he was going with this.

Air rushed into the phone again, and his tone dipped even lower, into another growl, but unlike the first one.

“I want to fuck you, Marta.”

She stopped breathing. “Every day I get up, I hate you. But every night I get back to my bunk, I think about how I had you pinned underneath me that day, and I jerk off to it. Hating you isn’t enough to stop it. I don’t want to kill you. I want to unmake you. I want to unmake you the way you unmade me.”

“You’re sick,” she whispered. “You’re sick, Ransom.”

“Oh, I know it, baby. But aren’t you just as sick as I am for listening to me? You could hang up. Right now. Hang up and never answer this phone again for the rest of your life. Go on, Marta. Do it. Hang up.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. His voice captivated her, that combination of bone-deep lust and ugly vengeance. She believed every word he’d said, for he had no reason to lie. He couldn’t manipulate her any longer, not from a jail cell. He was powerless…and yet he wasn’t.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Ransom whispered. A pleased purr slid into her ear. “Because you know I’m right. You hate me too, don’t you, Marta? You hate me for putting you through all of this just because I wanted the money. You hate me for killing my grandfather and using your pretty little clean hands to do it. You hate me for forcing you to become stronger than you were and stand up to the rest of my fucking idiot family. You hate me for shining a spotlight on you when you just wanted to keep being that same little wallflower you’ve always been.”

He snorted. “But that’s not the best part. Do you know what’s the best part, Marta?”

Her voice shook with fury. “What?”

“You can’t stop thinking about me either.”

She wanted to deny it.

But her stomach told her the truth.

The words nearly escaped, but the telltale sharp twist and nausea rolled up through her. If she denied it, he’d know. He’d hear her vomit and laugh that unnerving laugh in victory. She refused to give him that satisfaction.

“You can’t stop thinking about what I did to you. How I made you trust me. How I rescued you, encouraged you, gave you the strength and the confidence to try to get away with it all. You needed me, Marta. And you liked it.”

He licked his lips again. “The same way I liked it.”

“You’re a bastard. A filthy, cruel bastard. An animal. You deserve to be in that cage, Ransom.”

“Yeah,” he murmured dreamily. “You’re goddamn right I do. Know why? Because if I got out, fuck, I would do so many fucking things to you, Marta.”

She heard another movement, clothing maybe, a zipper. Her thighs clenched together as she realized what he was about to do. She tried to tell herself to hang up, but her limbs had locked up as if she had rigor mortis.

And the bastard was right.

Somewhere, deep down, Marta liked knowing that she had defeated him and possessed him entirely.

“I wouldn’t force you,” Ransom said over the initial faint slide of his hand over his cock. “Defeats the purpose. I’d make you fall for me, make you want it. Make you ache for it the way I’m aching for it. I’d have you up against the wall. Pull your little yoga pants down. Play with your clit a little. Get you nice and wet for me. Shove that sweater off and have a look at those cute little tits. Kiss you until you moan for me, moan for more, beg for it.”

Marta’s thighs clenched tighter.

“Then I’d get you on your knees. Open up those pretty lips and slide my cock inside your mouth. Nice and hot and wet around my cock. Shove it deep down your throat. Then fuck it. I’d fuck your mouth, your throat, make you look up at me while you do it with those big pretty brown eyes. Listen to you gag around my cock. I wouldn’t stop until I came inside it. I’d listen to you swallow every last drop of my come.”

Marta squeezed her eyes shut, begging her subconscious not to summon up the imagery in vain. “I’d be so pleased with your performance that I’d let you have a reward. I’d put you up on the desk in the study and eat your pussy raw. I don’t usually do that, you know, but I’d make an exception for you. Just for you. I bet you taste sweet, don’t you, Marta? Sweet as peaches in summer. Put your pretty legs up on my shoulders and just fuck the shit out of you with my tongue until you come. Slide a couple fingers inside, tease that little clit until you come again.”

He broke off for a moment, his breathing harsh, the phone shifting as he sped up his hand on his cock. Marta trembled in her seat, biting her lower lip nearly hard enough to break the skin. He got himself under control at last and his voice was even rougher when he spoke again. “Then I’d fuck you on that desk so fucking hard it would make you forget how to speak English. I’d fuck you deep. Hold you down and just make you take my cock. All of it. Until you couldn’t stand another second. You’d come for me. I know you would. You come so sweetly for me, all over my cock. Then I’d claim you. I’d come inside that tight little pussy of yours. Make a mess of you. Fucking fill you up over and over until it dripped down your thighs. You can feel it right now, can’t you? Deep inside, somewhere you don’t want to go, but you know it’s there. I’m inside you, Marta, same way you’re inside me. You’re the only person on this goddamn earth who’s ever understood me. And I want you so bad it’s gonna kill me someday. I want to conquer you. I want to bring you down to my level. Take you off that little pedestal and make you just as fucked up and twisted as me. I want you to curse me, damn me for all eternity, pass judgment over my sick fucking soul. And I want to make you feel good, so goddamn good, so fucking good that it’ll erase what I’ve done to you.”

His breathing turned ragged. “Fuck, Marta, it’s you, only you. You’re fucking _everything.”_

Ransom let out a sudden hiss. She knew it well. She knew he’d come, spilling onto himself, onto the floor, wherever. She covered her mouth with one hand as her spine arched without her permission, her shamefully wet cunt clenching over nothing, vibrating at the same intensely fucked up frequency as Ransom’s climax. Hot tears clumped on her lashes. She hated herself, but everything he’d just done had made her feel raw and scared and yet her whole body quivered with demented pleasure. She’d never done this before, brought a man to his knees, unraveled him at his core. She’d never been the center of attention, a worthy opponent, a pariah, a messiah, a goddess of death and destruction, in a man’s mind before. He was her nemesis. Her opposite.

Her undoing.

For a time, there was only his fast, weakened breaths. She kept her eyes shut, her hand over her lips, trying not to taste the desperate tears that had fallen. Her lips ached. Some kind of disturbed longing opened up inside her chest. A tiny part of her had wanted it all to transpire this way.

“You’re still there, aren’t you?” Ransom murmured, his syllables slightly slurred from pleasure. He listened, but she refused to speak. He laughed again. “Good. I win.”

He hung up.

Marta listened to the dial tone for a long moment and then slowly put the rotary handle back into its cradle. After a moment, she reached down and yanked the phone line out of the wall, even though she knew she didn’t need to. He wouldn’t call again.

Then she wiped her cheeks and headed upstairs for a long, hot shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom is not the only sore loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I guess I decided to descend to the lower levels of hell due to all you sick bastards encouraging me to write more. This is all your fault. All. Your. Fault.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Ransom scowled into the mirror where he’d very nearly nicked his perfect square chin with a razor and then glared at the guard who had just slammed his fist against the door. “What, asshole?”

“You got a visitor.”

Ransom’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. “This some kind of prank? Are you and the other cronies really that goddamn bored?”

The guard snorted. “We’d come up with a better prank than that, inmate. Let’s go.”

Ransom took his sweet time finishing a nice, clean shave, rinsed off his face, and then walked to the center of the room, arms down. The guard entered and put him in regular handcuffs and escorted him down the hall from his (very, very expensive) solitary confinement. He tried to contemplate who the hell would be visiting him now. He’d been in here over a full year now. The Thrombeys had long abandoned him, pretty much right after finding out he was behind it all. The last thing Linda had done before disowning him was send him the remainder of the cash that she’d been saving for him since he was born and told him she never wanted to see him again, whether he served the full sentence or got off on good behavior at some point. His father had tried visiting a few times, but gave up only about a couple months into his sentence, and even then, it had been to bellyache about Linda leaving him. He’d gotten a smug letter from Walt and a snotty phone call from Joni, but that was it. The last thing Meg had said to him at the house was “rot in hell” and that was that. Strangely, Ransom felt entirely satisfied by the Thrombey’s unanimous dismissal of his existence. In fact, it was a comfort to know he wouldn’t have to worry about any left curves or sucker-punches.

Or so he’d thought.

If it was his family, the most likely culprit would be his father. He’d always been weak. No spine whatsoever. Linda’s pre-nup was iron clad and while he knew his father had money, it certainly wouldn’t sustain his lifestyle or any of his side pieces. He’d blow through the cash and have to get a better job or learn how to play the stock market, but he knew Richard didn’t have the sense God gave corn, so it was likely he’d try to beg for some of Ransom’s nest egg “until he got back on his feet.” Ransom formulated as many insults as he could in the walk towards the visitor’s room, preparing to sneer and jeer at the pathetic old man until he’d run him off. Richard could cry him a fucking river. Even being broke was better than being in a cage.

Only…the guard didn’t take him to the open access visitor’s room.

They instead turned down the hallway towards the private meeting rooms, which were much like interrogation rooms in a police precinct: just one exit, concrete walls, purposely isolated from everything else, and sound-proofed. Ransom’s gut twisted. Maybe he’d ticked someone off more than usual. He’d been in his share of fights, mostly by smart-mouthing the guards. He’d paid to stay out of the general populace and that spared him for the most part. This didn’t bode well.

The guard opened the door to a room on the left and led him inside. There were two chairs, a bare overhead light, no tables. Strange, Ransom thought, but didn’t say anything yet. The guard nudged him to sit and then returned to the doorway, glancing aside.

“All set.”

Ransom’s blue eyes fixed on the open doorway, his face set in a terrible scowl.

And that’s when he heard them.

High heels.

Marta Cabrera stepped inside.

But not the Marta Cabrera he knew.

Marta had always been a meek little mouse, up until Harlan’s suicide. She wore baggy, shapeless, no-name brand clothing, no makeup, no perfume. He’d seen janitors that left better impressions on people than Marta’s physical appearance. She dressed like a little old woman, he’d always thought, which was a shame considering how attractive she was beneath it all.

Apparently, Marta decided she’d had enough of being a wallflower.

She strode into the room on a pair of black Louboutin pumps. Her smooth, gleaming brown legs stretched up into a burgundy leather mini-skirt, the material supple enough to glide soundlessly over her curves as she waltzed towards him. She wore a black blouse with a plunging V-neck with criss-cross ties over it, hinting barely at her breasts. Her makeup was expertly done; smoky eyes, a tiny bit of blush, and lipstick that perfectly matched the skirt. Her raven hair had been lightly curled so that it was in a wavy waterfall around her elegant cheekbones, somehow making her lashes look even longer.

She carried a cheap little gift bag in one hand as she strode over to the chair opposite him and then glided weightlessly into her seat. The guard shut the door behind her and locked it. She placed the gift bag next to the chair, arranged her hands in her lap, and smiled at him.

“Hello, Ransom.”

Ransom couldn’t breathe.

He was sure she’d sucked all the oxygen out of the room. He couldn’t stop staring at her. It couldn’t be her. He had to be dreaming. Just one of his thousands of fantasies about the only person in the world who’d ever truly beaten him. It just couldn’t really be Marta.

Marta’s brown eyes flashed and her pouty lips twitched up at one corner. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

“Not sure you’re really there,” Ransom finally rasped, his voice sounding as if it had been dragged across sandpaper and broken glass. He let his gaze rove down her small form again. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Cabrera.”

“Have I misjudged you, Ransom?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I thought you might like a visit on your birthday.”

Ransom blinked, stupefied by this revelation. Was it? He had plenty of amenities, but not a calendar. The days blended together in prison to a ridiculous extent.

She reached down. The neckline presented her breasts to him, curvaceous and seductive and classic. Ransom’s mouth watered.

Marta lifted the gift bag with one finger and then offered it to him. “For you.”

Ransom glared, but slowly reached out and accepted the bag. He let it drop in his lap and pushed aside the tissue paper to find the gift within.

It was the knife that had failed to kill her.

The prop knife.

Ransom snorted softly and fished it out of the bag. “Cute.”

“I thought so,” she mused. “In case you need a reminder.”

“Of what?” he growled. “Why I’m in here?”

“No,” she said. “Of me.”

Ransom threw the bag aside and flipped the prop knife between his fingers. “I have enough to remind me of you already, Marta. Don’t need it.”

He smirked. “I wonder if I push hard enough, could I get it through your throat?”

Marta cocked her head to one side. “We both know you don’t want me dead.”

“Do you?” he whispered. “It’s been a long time since that night, Marta. Maybe things have changed.”

Marta’s dark eyes drifted towards his lap. “I see a compelling argument indicating otherwise.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “My cock’s got less sense than I do, and that’s saying something. Don’t bet your life on it, Cabrera.”

She just kept smiling at him. Then she crossed and uncrossed her legs. The skirt was very short. Not prostitute short, but short enough that from this angle, he could see up towards her thighs. The dim lighting did him no favors, but the thought of her bare beneath the skirt hardened his cock even further. He licked the edge of his lips and tapped the knife against his fingertips, forcing himself to focus.

“Why are you here, Marta?”

“Because I don’t like to lose,” she whispered, shadows sliding over her features as she tilted her head slightly and looked through him. “What you did to me and Harlan wasn’t enough. No, you had to go and try to break me. Drag me down to your level. Corrupt me for the sake of your own ego.”

She leaned forward in the chair. “And I want my revenge.”

Ransom’s smirk widened and sharpened. “What? You gonna slap me around or something? Very unlike you, Marta. We don’t want blood on those pretty little hands again, do we?”

“I won’t spill a drop,” she said. “I don’t need to hit you to get what I want.”

“Is that right?”

She matched his smirk. “You’re not the only one who likes to play games, Ransom.”

“Really? And what’s this one called?”

Marta stood up slowly and took the three steps to close the distance between them. In a single, devastating motion, she straddled his lap and slid her hand up into his hair at the nape of his neck, caressing his scalp. It shocked him so bad he dropped the prop knife on the floor. 

Then she grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed the base of his skull against the back of the metal chair, stunning him for a second, her voice a sultry but dangerous purr. “It’s called 'Make Ransom Wish He Were Never Born.'”

“Too late for that, sweetheart,” he sneered. “You think you can outplay me by flashing those pretty legs and batting your eyes? Think again.”

“I can do better than that,” Marta cooed, running her fingers down his cheek. “Do you remember what you said to me that night you called?”

“Every word.”

“Good. You wanted me more than anything in the world, didn’t you? You wanted me helpless and submissive. I’m always like that in your dreams, aren’t I, Ransom? A little lamb at the altar, waiting to be slaughtered.”

She pressed her lips to the shell of his ear. “I am not a lamb, Ransom. I’m a wolf, same as you. You showed me your teeth and so I will show you mine.”

He hissed as she ground her ass down against his thighs. “I’m going to show you exactly what you will never, ever have for as long as you live, Ransom.”

“Bitch,” he gasped out as she rocked the warm, plush space between her thighs against his already throbbing cock beneath his jumpsuit. “You think I’m that easy, huh?”

Marta bit his ear lobe. “I think you’re mine.”

Ransom’s eyes rolled back in his head. A flood of volcanic pleasure engulfed him from head to toe, raising the hairs on his arms. The erection at half-mast immediately went to full standing at attention. He’d had so many fantasies of Marta claiming him, in pain or in pleasure. He’d damn near come in his pants from hearing it for real.

“And what if I slip these cuffs and strangle the life out of your little body?” he rasped back.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She kissed a line of fire down the side of his throat, her tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple along the way. Ransom bit off a curse and swung his arms over her body, locking his hands over the small of her back and jerking her closer to his chest. Her nimble fingers unzipped the jumpsuit to just above his navel and then crawled inside. She raked her nails down the firm muscles of his pecs and abs, stoking the fire into an inferno in mere seconds. He fought to stay in control, planting his feet on the stone floor, yelling at his body not to sink into the delicious grinding rhythm her hips made over his lap.

“Do you want to know what I dream about, Ransom?” she whispered in that innocent honeyed voice.

“No,” he ground out, but even to his own ears, it sounded fake.

Marta let out a wicked giggle in his ear. “Yes, you do, _mi amor.”_

Ransom’s toes curled. He didn’t know a damn thing about Marta’s country of origin, but fucking hell, did he love her calling him that.

“What do you dream about, Marta?”

He suppressed a groan as she found the edge of his sleeveless shirt beneath the jumpsuit and flattened her hands against his hot, trembling abdomen. “You, chained to my bed. Nothing more than a fucktoy for my pleasure.”

Ransom let out a hoarse laugh. “That vibrator isn’t doing it for you anymore, huh?”

She licked the edge of his chin. “It’s not fun to slap a vibrator.”

“So that’s it? I’m your bitchboy in your little fantasies? Not very creative, Marta.”

“You never complain in my dreams,” she sighed dreamily. “Especially when I sit on your face. You love that.”

Ransom shivered all over and couldn’t help letting his hands drift down over her ass. He squeezed the ample curves available to him and was rewarded with a breathy noise from her throat. He turned his head, hoping to catch her mouth with his own, but she was too quick; she dodged the attempt and clucked her tongue. “You don’t get to kiss me, Ransom. Not unless you admit your loss.”

He squeezed her ass mercilessly hard, his voice so low it sounded feral. “Fuck you, Marta.”

She laughed prettily, tossing her head back as she did. “Only in your dreams.”

The offering of her slender neck was far too much. Ransom smelled her perfume first and then set his teeth at her pulse, groaning as the taste of her olive skin filled his mouth. He licked and sucked at the spot, traveling down one inch at a time until the shirt got in the way. He longed to get out of the cuffs and shove it off of her to see the soft, bare flesh beneath it. His whole body turned into one oversensitive knot, his cock achingly hard and seeking any kind of release he could give it. He couldn’t give in, but he wanted to so badly it made him want to scream. He wanted to admit defeat and feel those tiny hands on his cock, stroking him to climax like he’d pictured a thousand times before.

“Oh, baby, you think I was filthy enough on the phone,” Ransom said. “That’s nothing compared to my dreams.”

She dragged her fingertips low enough to play with the hem of his boxers. Ransom pushed up into her before he could stop himself, cursing his lack of will power. “What do you do to me in your dreams?”

“Fuck this little ass raw,” he snarled without thinking, finally managing to work the leather skirt up enough to reach beneath it. No panties. Ransom nearly came all over himself beneath his jumpsuit. It was only by the grace of God that he didn’t. “Pull your hair until you cry and fuck your ass until you come for me. Couple fingers in your little pussy while I take it and you come even harder. You beg me to come in your ass and you cry when I finally do, balls deep, where it’s nice and tight and hot.”

Marta shuddered as his middle finger slid up towards her slick entrance beneath the skirt, nearly losing herself to his perversity, but she wrestled her control into place just in time. She shoved his hands down between his knees so he couldn’t touch her with them any longer.

“Is that the best you can do, Ransom?” she purred. “Perhaps prison has tamed you.”

She pulled the jumpsuit down enough to reveal his boxers. “Perhaps prison has tamed this.”

“Take off my cuffs.” Ransom’s eyes glinted from under his half-lidded gaze. “I’ll show you how tame I am.”

“I’ve seen what you have to offer. I’m not impressed. I’m not even naked and you’re about to come apart at the seams. Face it, Ransom. You’re just a lonely wolf howling at the moon. You wouldn’t know what to do with it if you caught it.”

She palmed his thick, hard cock where it lay against his washboard abs. Ransom gritted his teeth and tried not to moan as the relief spread maddening pleasure through him from head to toe. He kept expecting to wake up in his bunk under the covers, caught in his maelstrom of hatred and lust for her.

Marta shifted closer, her plush lips to his ear, curling her fingers around his cock as she stroked and rubbed it through the boxers almost lovingly. “You were right before. You are inside me, Ransom. I think about you every day, every night, how I want to tear you apart like you tore me apart. Every time I cash a check, I think of you. How I would not be where I am, with your fortune, without you. You are a beautiful failure, Ransom. Nothing more than a clever boy with a smart mouth and a big cock. I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life. The moment where you realized that even if you’d gotten what you wanted, you’d still be empty inside. And no matter how hard you try, you will never make me like you.”

She lifted above him. He could look nowhere else but her hungry, fearless eyes. “I am everything and you are nothing.”

Ransom managed a thin, weary smile. “But you still want me anyway.”

Marta raised her chin, but said nothing, the gesture an echo to when he’d seen her on the balcony over a year ago when he’d been arrested. Ransom let his gaze wander down over the powerful vixen in his lap and laughed quietly as he shook his head at himself.

“Fine. You win.”

Marta smiled. “Good boy.”

“So what do I get for admitting defeat?” he drawled.

“More than you deserve, but less than you want.”

Ransom shifted back in his seat, balancing her precariously over his lap and staring at her like nothing else in the world existed. “You want to fuck me, Marta. I know it. I can smell it. I can smell how fucking wet you are under your skirt. You can’t stop thinking about how much you want me. How much you want my cock. You don’t care how depraved I am. You know just how good I can be to you. You know I can make you come. Make you come so hard you visit week after week, until you’re as much of a cockslut as you are in my dreams. I want you to use me to get off like you’ve always wanted, like you used to dream about before all this happened. I know you, Marta. I know you were under the covers at night, fingering that little pussy as you thought about me fucking you from behind and on top and everywhere inside my grandfather’s house. You can’t hide from me anymore than I can hide from you. Use me, Marta. Use me like I used you.”

He pulled his arms from under her and shoved his boxers down, revealing his flushed, twitching cock. He fisted it and exhaled loudly in relief, immediately settling into fast, careless strokes, the leaking tip of it up against her belly. She shivered as she watched him pleasure himself. A tidal wave of memories hit her from their fateful phone call, how she’d been so ashamed and angry with herself for feeling aroused by his sick nature. She couldn’t look away from him now, from the taboo display before her, a murderer who couldn’t stop fantasizing about his would-be victim. It was twisted and yet she was wetter than she’d ever been in her life.

“Just let me in,” Ransom whispered, sliding his other hand as much as the cuffs allowed towards her inner thighs. She cursed as his rough fingers found her silken folds. He skimmed over her sodden edges and then molded his cock against her until they were nearly lined up. He moaned hotly as he felt the heat of her, the wetness spreading all over his shaft, making a mess under her skirt. “Let me in, Marta.”

He pushed the tip inside, nearly breaching her. “ _Fuck,_ Marta, I—”

Only for her to pull away at the last second.

Ransom’s mouth flew open in protest, but Marta seized his cock and kissed him harder than he’d ever been kissed his entire life.

He came that very instant.

Ransom’s climax had no equal. He’d never fallen so fully into ecstasy than there, poised between her slender thighs, her tongue in his mouth, her plush lips kissing him senseless. He’d fucked all kinds of girls his whole life and not one of them ever made him come like Marta did. He let out ragged, muffled moans against her mouth on every other breath, his eyes rolled back in his skull as his cock spurted his come out until he knew he’d coated her pussy in it. He jerked in the seat, nearly whimpering in pleasure as she continued stroking him, extracting every bit she could, until he fell soft in her grip.

He groaned as her lips slipped away from his, chasing after her, but she pushed him back into the chair with her other hand. He managed to open his eyes to see her above him, mussed and beautiful and wanton and beyond his reach.

“Sorry,” Marta said. “I don’t fuck people who kill my friends and then frame me for the murders.”

She pushed up from his lap, stepped back, and withdrew a handkerchief from the back pocket of her skirt. She cleaned herself up, combed her fingers through her hair, and then spared him one last sparkling smile that would never leave him.

“Happy birthday, Ransom.”

Then she left him there in the dark, hurting, hating, and wanting.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> *blasts "Highway to Hell"* God, I'm the worst.


End file.
